


The Problem With Normal

by Problemswithbiology (problemswithbiology)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blood and Gore, M/M, Super Villain AU, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:50:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1349695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problemswithbiology/pseuds/Problemswithbiology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Marco wants is to never get involved with anything that contains the word 'super' ever again. <br/>Jean just wants to commit enough high profile crime so he can get a book deal. Apparently, that's too much to ask for either of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marco goes stir crazy despite the explosions and the masked man

**Author's Note:**

> Where Marco questions the accuracy of the title super villain in regards to this guy and talks to himself a lot.

The woman winced as the aftershock of another explosion shook the bike store. New bicycles that hung on their shelves jumped and rattled unsteadily. Marco stopped in the middle of fixing her bike and dove to catch the five thousand dollar racing bike that had just been delivered to the store. Meanwhile, the woman whimpered when a flash of light illuminated the darkest corners of the store and was followed by an even larger aftershock. Marco couldn’t help but take pity on her.

“You should go ma’am.”

The woman’s head snapped from her nervous gaze out the window to look at Marco, “But… my bike.” she said, glancing down at the half finished construction Marco had his hands on.

He smiled at her reassuringly, “With everything going on out there I’m going to have my hands full making sure nothing falls over. I’m not going to be able to fix your bike for a while. It doesn’t make sense for you to stay here.”

The woman frowned and bit her lip.

“Seriously, you look really nervous, you should go now while the fighting’s still far away. I’ll finish your bike tonight and you can come by tomorrow morning and pick it up. I’ll even give you a discount for finishing it late. How does that sound?” he said

The woman exhaled a long, shaky breath “Are you sure?” she asked, relief colored her voice.

Another explosion shook the shop and Marco raised an eyebrow at the woman.

“Yes.” He deadpanned.

“Thank you!” the woman cried. She was halfway into her coat and out the door when she turned back to Marco.

“Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time this has happened.” He told her. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a lie

The woman nodded and raced out of the shop. Marco’s eyes followed her until she was out of view before he secured her bike and headed back to the counter. In one of the drawers he found the remote control for the flat screen television that hung on the opposite wall. Usually it was tuned to a DVD loop of ridiculously beautiful people riding bikes through picturesque forests with their hair flying behind them. Once the management had tried a video with men with half their teeth gone flipping off fifteen-foot jumps. It didn’t have quite the same effect.

Marco moved to change the channel when he stopped. It was technically against company policy to change it.

His hand hovered above the channel button.

A flash of white light seared his eyes and the explosion rang in his ears. It rocked the foundations of the shop and three of the display bikes as well as a chunk of the ceiling fell.

Marco changed the channel.

Channel 1 News blared to life and their top criminal correspondent’s face engulfed the screen. Three figures battled in the distance.

“New developments at the Trost City Bank robbery, “ Angelina Pan’s urgent voice rattled though the speakers, “What was originally a non violent bank heist by criminal Savior turned into a turf war earlier this afternoon when the super villain Deathonator _-“_

Despite the seriousness of the topic Marco stifled a laugh. _Deathonator_? Who came up with these names?

“Burst into the building and became furious when he saw Savior on site,” Pan continued, “Sharpshooter is now on scene, but this battle shows no sign of easing up.”

Marco relaxed. Sharpshooter, Trost’s local hero, was very good at her job. Marco had been in Trost for nearly three years and not a month passed without Sharpshooter in the news for some miraculous capture or another.

 _Still._ Marco thought and decided to keep the television on while he moved to fix the display.

Twenty minutes later Marco was back to fixing the woman’s bike again and Angelina Pan screamed into her microphone that Savior and Sharpshooter had teamed up to defeat Deathonator.

Marco laughed out loud this time, “Deathonator.” He said to the bike.

The bike did not respond.

Marco decided to stop speaking to inanimate objects and to call his animate friends soon.

He tuned out the newscaster and returned to the bike. On the final turn of the wrench Pan’s scream caused Marco to flail and the wrench flew out of his hands, spun in the air, and landed on his head.

“ _Chingado!_ ” Marco swore in Spanish and rubbed his head. He glared at Pan’s image on the screen before his brain processed what she was saying.

“Deathonator has been apprehended! Deathonator has been apprehended and Savior has fled the scene!”

Marco ran over to the counter and switched off the television. Pan’s shrill voice was giving him a headache.

 _Actually it’s probably the wrench you dropped on your head._ His horrible brain reminded him

_Shut up, self. I think what I want_

_Yes. Including that you are an idiot_

_You wanna go?_

_Bring it._

_OH MY GOD, STOP TALKING TO YOURSELF._

Marco groaned and laid his head against the table. He could not handle being alone and distraction less for this long. Maybe he could convince Connie to apply for a job. Could Connie fix bikes?

Could Connie actually _ride_ a bike?

Halfway through trying to remember whether he had ever seen his friend with a bike the door swung open and slammed into the wall.

Marco scrambled up and a man ran into shop.

The only part of him uncovered was the lower half of his face. He wore a dark green half mask that went down to his nose while reflective goggles covered his eyes. His cargo pants were the same shade of green and ended with brown combat boots. The long sleeve black shirt he wore was skin-tight and emphasized what Marco was sure would have been excellent muscles.

However, Marco was more focused on the weapon trained on his head. After a moment, Marco slowly raised his hands to the universal pose for surrender.

“Not a word.” The man growled.

He ran and vaulted over the desk with a gloved hand and hunkered down under the desk.

“Act normal.” he said.

“Well then they’ll definitely know something’s wrong.” Marco muttered, and froze.

Luckily, the masked man only snorted and Marco let out the breath he was holding.

Yes Marco, good job. Sass the armed villain under your desk. That’s not suicidal _._

They sat in silence for a minute long eternity and Marco cursed his bad luck. Why did this always happen to him? Maybe he had been a tyrant in a past life. That would explain everything. What tyrant had died twenty-one years ago? He glanced down at the man at his feet and jumped slightly when he realized that this was Savior.

 _Duh, who else would he be?_ He thought and then countered, _he could have just been a regular bad guy. There’s no one else on the street. It’s a good time to loot stores._

_…I wonder what he’s thinking about?_

Marco looked at the man who, until about 5 minutes ago, had been in a firefight against a man whose weapon of choice was grenades. It wasn’t totally stupid that Marco hadn’t immediately recognized him. Usually the villain’s gloves sparked with electricity and he wore a harness with grappling hooks that allowed him to travel from building to building. Marco wondered if it had been destroyed in the fight. He narrowed his eyes at Savior.

What were the chances he was thinking about ponies?

“What?” Savior asked.

“Hm?” Marco recoiled back in his chair.

“You’re staring at me. Why?”

A thousand possible excuses flashed through Marco’s mind, each more valid and less stupid then the truth.

“What is the possibility you are thinking about ponies?”

WHY DID HE SPEAK THE TRUTH? WHY DID BEING ALONE MAKE HIM CRAZY? WHAT WAS HIS LIFE?

Savior’s mouth dropped open, “I pointed an electrical weapon at you, hid under your desk, and you are asking me if I’m thinking about fucking _ponies?”_

“I asked if you’re thinking about them, not if you’re thinking about _fucking_ them.” Marco replied, and mentally signed his will. Reiner could have his computer.

Savior burst into laughter. “Who are you?” he asked between gasps.

“I’m not sure I should reveal that information to a man who thinks about fucking ponies.”

Savior laughed again, and then pulled Marco down by his shirt collar. Marco flew forward and shot his hands forward. He just managed to stop himself from toppling into the villain. He strained to pull away but Savior held him tight.

“Marco.” Savior read his name tag and let go. Marco fell backwards.

“So, Marco, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Savior asked

Marco blinked once,

Twice,

Three times.

“Says the super villain who calls himself _Savior_?”

“Screw you! Savior is an awesome name. I am _saving_ the people from the tyranny of the one percent!”

Marco was not convinced.

“Anyway, that’s not the point,” Savior made a valiant attempt to change topics, “Why are you so okay with a super villain (he preened when he said super villain) in your store? You barely panicked.”

Marco got to his feet and brushed off the back of his jeans and moved back to his chair. He placed his hands palms flat on the desk and silently marveled he was having a conversation with a super villain.

Savior was still looking at him expectantly.

“I’m from Jinae.” Marco admitted.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a little while. Occasionally, Marco’s gaze would drift to the window before it would turn back to the man under his desk.

Eventually it was Savior who broke the silence.

“So, Marco. Is that Italian?”

“Spanish.” Marco said, looking back at the window.

“Sexy. Suits you.”

Marco looked down so fast he cracked his neck, “Did you just make a pass at me?”

Then the police burst in.

“What the fuck?” Savior said.

Marco smiled down at him and said in his most saccharine voice, “panic button under the desk.”

The police moved fast. Within a few seconds they had dragged Savior out from under the desk and were dragging him to the door.

“Is this because I flirted with you?” Savior yelled as he was dragged out the door.

The bell on the door jingled when the door fell shut.

The shop was quiet. The bikes sagged in their racks and the display stood undisturbed. Marco moved to the repair room and finished tuning the woman’s bike.

 


	2. Jean is an idiot and only Marco is surprised.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean tries really hard twice and only fails once. Marco gets more and more confused

The next few days were surprisingly uneventful. The media was so caught up with the capture of Deathonator that no journalist had even come to the store to ask about Savior. The most Marco knew was Savior had escaped from police custody the second after he was caught. He only knew that because the police had called to warn him. Marco was nervous for all of five minutes before he moved on. He decided not to worry anyone by telling them, so the only other person who knew about the ordeal was the store owner. The man had been so grateful to Marco for ‘protecting the store’ (Marco tried to correct him. It didn’t work) that he had given him a raise and a week off work.

This was his first shift back since the incident, as his manager referred to it. It was a weekend, so there were five other people working with him and the shop was filled with people. Therefore, it was normal that no one noticed the masked figure that had popped up in the roof of the opposite building three times in the last hour. No one that is, until Marco looked out the window and the figure waved at him.

Marco tensed and slowly turned back to the customer he was supposed to be helping.

 _How long can he really stay there for?_ Marco thought to himself, _He must somewhere to go. Maybe he has a job? Do super villains have jobs? Besides super villaining, obviously. Maybe he has a family to get to. What if he’s a super villain because he doesn’t have a family? Aw, that’s kind of sad. No! Bad! Stop feeling sorry for the super villain._

“Sir?” the customer’s voice cut through his thoughts, “Are you alright?”

Marco shook his head, “Sorry. It’s been an interesting week. But it’s not important. The bike is for your daughter? How much will she be riding it?”

Marco spent the next few hours in self imposed ignorance about his possible stalker, and by the end of his shift, when no one had burst through the roof yelling horrible pick up lines, Marco managed to relax.

Maybe Savior had been casing another store and had happened to pass by. Wasn’t that still a bad thing? Marco groaned as he walked out of the store. He should have called the police. He turned into the alleyway that was his subway shortcut. Later, he would question the wisdom of that choice when there was potentially a super villain that wanted to kill him. For the moment, he thought about how he had potentially doomed another store to a robbery because he was too scared to call the police. He had his phone three quarters out of his pocket when a man landed directly in front of him.

“Hi.” Savior said.

Marco took three steps back, tripped on a box behind him, crashed against the wall, and slumped to the floor.

“Woah, are you okay?” Savior asked.

“merahbuugh” Marco said eloquently.

Savior placed his hands on his waist and Marco he had his harness back.

“That’s karma for getting me arrested last week.” He said.

Marco’s eyes widened.

“Karma?” he said once he found his voice, “karma for getting a _super villain_ arrested?”

Savior nodded, “and only because I flirted with you. Homophobia is a bigoted, disgusting-”

“How are you this self involved?”

Savior took a step back, “Self… involved?” he repeated slowly.

“I called the police because you _flirted_ with me?” Marco got to his feet, “I called them _the minute you walked into the store_! _You were just on the news for robbing a bank._ And you’re accusing me of homophobia? _I’m gay, you dumbass_.”

Marco was nose-to-nose with the villain.

“So, just to be clear,” Savior said; Marco could feel his breath against his face, “it wasn’t because I said you were sexy.”

“Ugh!” Marco yelled and stepped back.

“This book is kind of pointless then.”

Savior held out a book to Marco, who grabbed it while muttering about how the decline in crime was probably because the criminals were such idiots. He looked down at the book.

 _So Your Child is Gay_ the title said in big red letters. Marco’s jaw dropped.

“You are not my child?” he said, his voice an octave higher than normal.

Savior shrugged, color rose on his face, “The same principle still applies.”

“Not really?” Marco’s voice rose another octave.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, so I’ll just take that back.”

He reached for the book and Marco let it be drawn from his hands. His mind still reeled from “child” and “principles” and super villains that handed him irrelevant self help books.

“I’m going to go.” Savior said.

Marco nodded.

In a whirl of gear, Savior disappeared and Marco was left staring at the wall. A minute later a little girl walked down the alley and touched Marco’s arm lightly.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I don’t understand what just happened.”

 

 

 

Jean had come to terms a while ago that he wasn’t going to be the most dangerous criminal the world had ever seen. He didn’t have super powers, he wasn’t psychotic and he tried to avoid hurting people. Most of the time he wasn’t bothered by this fact. The whole villainy shebang (another reason he wasn’t a great villain was because he used words like ‘shebang’) was a stepping-stone to gain enough publicity for deals that would insure that he would never have to work again. Everything he did was calculated to achieve that goal. About a month ago he decided it was time to make the change from super villain to anti-hero status and he had spent most of the month trailing Sharpshooter in order to “miraculously jump in” and help during her battles.

Another point on the checklist was to find a civilian and make them fall in love with him. It would be an epic tale of romance in the face of a disapproving society. The civilian would never know his true face; he would only know Jean as a misunderstood villain and he would fall in love with him despite his flaws. It would be Chapter 15 in Jean’s autobiography. It was a perfect plan. Everyone wanted excitement in their lives, what was more exciting then a super villain/ budding anti-hero boyfriend?

Jean thought he had found the perfect candidate for distressed civilian in the form of the hot Hispanic boy from the bike store. Unfortunately, Jean had been the opposite of calm and collected for both of those meetings and his chances were ruined. It was fine. Jean would forget and move on to another target, no big deal. So the day after their second disastrous meeting, he wasn’t completely sure how he had ended up outside the bike store in civilian clothes. He reached for the handle and hesitated. This was a stupid idea, so many things could go wrong. Marco could recognize him; his cover could be blown. He could be arrested while he was still poor.

From inside the store Marco waved at him and Jean took a breath and opened the door. There were ten other people in the shop and two free employees, but Jean walked straight over to Marco.

Marco smiled at Jean for the first time. His freckles rose higher on tan cheeks and his eyes sparkled. Fucking _sparkled_. Was this kid real? Whose eyes actually did that?

“Can I help you?” Marco asked.

Wait, shit. Abort. Abort. What was his excuse? Crap. He couldn’t think of one. “You’re pretty” is not a valid reason. Neither is “never stop smiling you beautiful specimen of man.”

“Bikes!” Jean said. Nailed it.

Marco dipped into a frown before his face returned to its previous smile. Although it seemed a little forced this time.

“Bike. I have. It broken. Help?” Jean continued.

This was it. This was how he died. _Turned into caveman in front of stranger_ would be written on his tombstone.

Marco’s expression cleared, “Oh! Could I see your bike?” he asked.

Shit times two.

“Um, no. It actually got… run over… by a truck,” Jean tried. He looked at Marco’s horrified face, “No! It’s fine. No one was hurt, except the bike of course. It was crushed, completely destroyed. It’s sheet metal now…. Which is why I’m looking for a new bike.”

Jean gave himself a mental high five. That was semi plausible. This situation could be salvaged.

“Of course, sir. What type of bike would you be looking for?”

_There’s more than one?_

_Buy for time!_

“Don’t call me sir, it’s weird, you’re my age. I’m Jean.”

Marco laughed and the hallelujah chorus played in Jean’s head.

“Sure, Jean. I’m Marco.” Marco tilted his head, “have we met before? Your voice sounds kind of familiar.”

The hallelujah chorus was attacked and massacred by angry demons.

“Do you go to Rose?” Marco asked.

But the angels were resurrected by every god.

“Yeah, I’m a junior.”

“I’m a senior. Maybe you were in one of my classes. Are you pre-med too?”

“No. Electrical Engineering.” Jean said, and immediately regretted it. He couldn’t have lied? Told Marco something that did not conjure images of electrical weapons? Change the topic, quick!

“Pre-med? Shit, that’s intense. How do you have time to work and finish your assignments?”

Marco grinned, “with non-existent sleep and social life. I haven’t been on a date since last summer.”

Jean grinned in a way he hoped looked suggestive and not creepy, “Well that’s a crime.”

Marco blushed and looked away. Mission Accomplished. Point Kirschtein.

“You’re one to talk.” Marco said. Jean raised his eyebrows.

“About stress!” Marco corrected hurriedly, thrusting his hands out like stop signs, “My roommate’s in engineering and I think he gets less sleep then I do. Anyway that is not the point! The point is bikes, back to bikes. What type did you say you were looking for?”

Fuck. It had gone so well. Jean opened his mouth to spout bullshit when his phone rang.

“One second.” He told Marco, and turned away.

“Hello?” he said into the receiver.

“You need to come over.” Ymir commanded through the phone.

As normally as possible, Jean sped away from Marco.

“Why are you calling now? It’s the middle of the day. I’m in public!” he hissed.

“Calm down. It’s not like I’m describing your next-”

“Shut up!”

“Paranoid. Krista needs you now.” Jean could almost hear her eye roll.

“Fine. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Where are you anyway? You’re not usually this uptight.” Jean hung up. He stepped back to Marco, who waited for him by a selection of new bikes.

“That was my cousin,” he lied, “something’s come up, I have to go.”

“Oh, that sucks.” Was it just his imagination or did Marco’s face fall?

“Come back soon?”

“Sure.” Jean said and walked out the door. Once he was safely away from the bike store he jumped and let out a whoop. First civil conversation: resounding success.

“Jean!” he froze when he heard Marco’s voice. Behind him, Marco stood with flaming red cheeks and Jean’s wallet in his hand.

“You, um, dropped this.”

“coolthanksbye!” Jean pulled the wallet away and ran to the bus station. He jumped on, grabbed a seat and buried his face in his hands.

First civil conversation: So close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post: http://jeanmarcoaus.tumblr.com/post/72929597016/au-where-marco-is-like-a-spy-and-jean-is-his-arch-enemy
> 
> Critiques are VERY welcome.


	3. Jean has friends. It's a miracle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco meets more people, stairs ruin Jean's love life, and Jean shows some intelligence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, thank you SO MUCH to everyone who left kudos and/or commented. I cannot thank you enough!
> 
> Also, but what if AU drew this beautiful thing http://but-what-if-au.tumblr.com/post/81568307536/buy-for-time-dont-call-me-sir-its-weird and I saw it and full on squealed in the middle of my living room. So go check it out!

Jean had many regrets. For example, having horrible, awful, heartless friends.

Exhibit A: the woman that currently sat on his chest, howling with laughter.

Jean had first met Krista and Ymir a few months after the latter’s trial. Famous for her careless arrogance, Ymir had stolen billions of dollars worth of weaponry and sold them to super-villains around the world. When she was finally caught, over a hundred thousand people stood outside the courthouse where the classified trial was held and shrieked for her blood.

 _The New York Times_ called the trial “…a massacre of the integrity of the criminal justice system.” when Ymir walked free. The lack of knowledge about the circumstances of the trial didn’t stop the the press and public from hounding Ymir for months. Articles decried her guilt; right wing media proclaimed political correctness had gone too far when they freed a known criminal simply because she was a “homosexual minority”.      

Meanwhile, Ymir took it all with her head held high and her arm around the shoulders of her lawyer.

The media was less sure what to make of blonde, blue eyed, innocent, little Historia Reiss. As Ymir’s defense lawyer she fought tooth and nail for her client’s freedom and continued to fight the media long after the trial was over. Reporters described her as “a genius whose talents were put to the wrong use” or as (Jean’s personal favorite) “an innocent destroyed by the stranglehold of bureaucracy.” People clamored for her attention. Job offers were flung at her from across the globe, movie studios begged for her life rights; men fell to their knees when she walked past.

At least, until Krista told David Letterman that she was dating Ymir.

After that, the press turned her into the demon Lilith and all the public’s goodwill vanished. Movie studios still wanted her life rights though.

Jean had met them a little bit after the debacle; after Historia changed her name, and after the media had moved on to slash the throats of the people responsible for Jinae. He had asked (read: pleaded) for Krista to take him on as a client. Finally, Jean wore her down (read: gave her a shit ton of cash) and she agreed. Krista had been Jean’s lawyer for four years now.

Their acceptance, for Krista and Ymir were always together, was probably the best thing to happen to Jean since he became a criminal.

Ymir and Krista were the only two people who knew about both Jean’s identities, and they were his closest friends. However, Jean knew surprisingly little of their lives previous to when he met them, and they had never told him the reason Ymir had been found innocent. That didn’t stop Jean from asking, until Ymir told him she’d rip the nails from his fingers if he asked again. After that, Jean stayed quiet.

Despite Ymir’s anger issues, they were good friends. Aside from being an excellent lawyer, Krista was equally excellent when it came to discussing the ethical ramifications of convincing someone to fall in love with you. Which was why Jean had told her an abridged version of his meetings with Marco.

A highly abridged version.

A “lets-ignore-any-dumb-things-I-may-have-done-during-said-meetings” version.

And Jean intended to keep it that way. He was very impressed with himself.

Master manipulator: Jean Kirschtein.

He should work for the government.

“Bullshit”

Or not.

“Excuse me?”

“Bull _shit_ ,” Ymir repeated, “You’re a fucking loser. You could barely talk to Krista the first few times you met her. There’s no way you were that smooth. Spill, what did you really do?”

“Nothing! Jesus.”

Krista cocked her head, “C’mon.”

Traitor.

Jean searched frantically for a means of escape. He could parkour out the window. Shit, they were twenty floors up.

He could set off the fire alarm! No, Ymir would catch him.

“Jean?”

He could tell the truth. Wait, that was fucking stupid.

“Um…” too late, “I may have tried to flirt with him, failed, assumed he was homophobic and then given him a book on how to deal with having a gay child.”

Jean had never noticed before how loud the living room clock was. Minutes ticked by in silence, and then Ymir burst into laughter.

“You’re an idiot!” she screeched.

Jean launched himself at her, which was a bad idea, and was why she was now sitting on his chest, laughing.

Krista crawled over to pat him on the head, “It might be a good idea to find a new target.” She said gently.

“Thanks for the advice.” He wheezed. Once Ymir calmed down, he tried to wiggle away, but she bounced and knocked the air out of his lungs, so Jean gave up.

“Was he who you were with today?” Ymir asked. She shifted, and her bony ass dug into Jean’s chest.

“Fuck you!” Jean yelped, “and maybe.”

Krista sighed, “Jean…”

“I wasn’t in costume!”

“That’s worse! You shouldn’t force him into a love triangle with you and yourself.”

“I wasn’t!” Jean protested, “and how is that any worse then making him fall in love with a super villain?”

Krista rolled her blue eyes, “because only idiots fall in love with super villains.”

“ _You_ fell in love with _me_.” Ymir pointed out.

“Exactly.”

Ymir laughed, reaching over to kiss her girlfriend. Jean used the distraction to scramble away and send Ymir toppling into Krista.

Krista wrapped her arms around her so she wouldn’t attack Jean again and changed the subject.

“So what are you trying to do? If Savior isn’t going to manipulate him?”

Blood rushed to his face and Jean kept his gaze firmly on the plush carpet.

“I don’t know. I just like him. Like, as Jean not as Savior”

Krista squealed and Ymir gagged.

“Can we meet him?” Krista asked, eyes bright with excitement.

“No!” Jean yelled and Krista’s face fell, “You will never meet him and he will never find out about all-”

He gestured at them, “-this.”

 

 

 

 

Marco was bored. Tuesday mornings were boring. Nobody came into the shop, the bikes were all fixed, and he had left his textbooks at home. He pressed his face on the desk and spread his arm. He was starting to wish someone; anyone would come in and deliver him from soul crushing boredom. At this point he would even take Savior.

The door jingled open.

He took that back!

Marco shot upright and sagged when he only saw two women.

There were a few ways to tell them apart: one woman wore a blue skirt suit, the other wore jeans and a band shirt; one had blonde hair that stopped at her shoulders, the other had her brown hair tied back; one smiled, the other was apathetic.

They also looked nothing alike.

The blonde woman stepped forward and sent Marco a slow smile. The morning sunlight sparkling against her hair and lighting up her blue eyes was a backdrop to Marco’s sudden sexuality crisis. Then the other woman shot him a glare that could have melted the One Ring and the moment was over. The only thing left was a nagging feeling he had seen these two before.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Are you Marco?” the woman said, stepping forward, “My name is Krista Lenz. I represent Savior. I believe you two have met?”

 _What did I ever do to you?_ Marco asked the heavens. Silently, he cursed every bit of bad luck that had ever brought him to this store. Halfway through draft one of his complaint letter to God, he realized Krista was talking again.

“Marco I’m here in regards to your interactions with my client two weeks ago. It would be in your best interest to sign the documents I’m about give you in order to protect you from any lawsuits that may be filed against you in the future.”

“Lawsuits against _me_?” he croaked.

“Yes.” Krista shrugged, “here are the files.”

In spite of all previous experience, Marco decided that it might be a good idea to actually read the terms and conditions of files presented to him by a super villain’s lawyer.

“He has a _book deal_?!” Marco said incredulously.

“Yes. Now if you could please sign here.”

“A book deal. Him. A super villain.”

“Anti-hero.” Krista’s companion said.

“What?”

“He’s an anti hero now.” At the sight of Marco’s face she shrugged.

 _Anti-Hero,_ Marco mouthed. He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. Why was his life a badly written comic book?

“Look, I am not signing this.” he finally said

“Marco-” Krista began. Marco held out a palm.

“No. I am not signing something a super villain, sorry, _anti hero’s_ lawyer gives to me. And I’m certainly not signing something that will help him get a book deal. I really appreciate the time you took out of your day to come here but,” Marco paused, “I think I’ll take my chances with a lawsuit.”

He held his breath until Krista beamed at him, “You’d probably win anyway.” She admitted.

Marco laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. His heartbeat was so loud he was surprised no one else could hear it, but now that this was over, the nagging feeling came back in full force.

Krista Lenz? Why did she look so familiar? Behind them, her companion poked at one of the new bikes. Her ponytail fell over her shoulder and Marco caught sight of a blackened scar.

And he remembered.

“Historia Reiss. Ymir. You were involved in the Titan trial.” He gasped.

The change was instantaneous. The women’s expressions hardened. Ymir shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. Marco could almost see the lightning crackle between them.

Krista forced her face into a grotesque version of her former smile, “You know about the trial?”

“I went to school with three of the victims, and I was there during two of the attacks. They made me testify at the main trial.”

Thunder always comes after lightning, Marco thought. The ensuing silence blanketed the room. Ymir’s eyes widened and Krista gasped.

Then, Krista’s gaze softened and Ymir shifted back to resting stance. But the smell of ozone still hung in the room.

“Did you know them well?” Krista asked.

“Bertholdt was my neighbor. They were, _are,_ my friends.”

Krista had the grace to look down.

“Do you still keep in touch with Reiner?” Ymir asked.

Marco nodded.

“You don’t?”

“No. Didn’t think staying in touch would be the best idea for either of us. How’s he doing?”

“Managing.”

When, Ymir looked at Marco her gaze was of a frightened child. He could hardly bear to look at her. It was too much; she was too big a reminder of what he- what they both- had lost. She stood there, fist clenched, with dilated pupils and a scarred neck and Marco couldn’t think of anyone but his lost friends. At the same time, he wanted her to talk to him and she wanted to talk to him. They understood each other. Both of them knew what it was like to lose friends. Both of them knew the chest clawing, eye gouging, heart stomping pain it caused. Worse, they knew the people who caused this would never be caught; could never feel the pain they had caused the children they hurt.

Both Marco and Ymir knew, both Marco and Ymir understood; neither Marco and Ymir would say a word. Maybe it was respect, maybe they didn’t want to tempt fate, but most likely it was self-preservation.

Krista’s soft voice interrupted the silence.

“I think we should go.” She said.

Ymir jerked out a nod and moved to the door. Krista swayed after her.

If Marco had paid attention he might have heard Krista’s whispered “I like him” or Ymir’s murmured agreement. He might have heard Ymir say “we should keep Jean away from him” or seen Krista shake her head. He might have seen Krista’s pitying glance at him or heard Ymir’s whispered warning.

He might have noticed. But Marco was behind the desk, head in his hands, surrounded by ghosts. So he paid no attention at all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the 1980s, the front steps of the engineering department were used as the set of the climatic scene of a famous romantic movie. Thirty years later, the steps continued to crawl with tourists.

Jean fully blamed this place for any and all problems he had with romance. These steps sucked out his ideas and poured them into stupidity. Over the three years Jean had been at the university, he had seen one thousand reenactments of the famous scene, eight hundred people burst into tears, five hundred people kiss the steps, one hundred proposals, fifty breakups, three film sets and, memorably, one failed attempt at a singles meet up (only one man showed up. The engineering students took turns laughing at him).

These were Jean’s thoughts as he dodged a flailing limb from a member of proposal 101; dance 11. He was trying to inch around a group of people doing jazz hands when he saw Marco at the top of the stairs.

Marco hadn’t seen Jean yet. He was talking to a short, dark-skinned man with a buzzcut who Jean recognized from one of his classes. He wore a Sharpshooter t-shirt; Jean disliked him on principle. To be honest, he had nothing against Sharpshooter, he rather liked her, the same could not be said for her fans. They threw things at him and said things like,

“Stay away from Sharpshooter!” and;

“You suck!” or;

“Stop robbing me!”

Admittedly, the last one might be justified.

As fast as he could, Jean maneuvered himself in the opposite direction of the two men. He had spoken to Marco a couple of times on campus after the bike store incident, and each time it had gone relatively well. He was _not_ going to ruin it by meeting Marco on The Stairs Of Romantic Doom™. In fact, he was not going to meet Marco again until he had a plan that did not involve Jean making a fool out of himself. Of course, that was when the potential bridegroom body checked him straight towards Marco.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Maybe Marco hadn’t seen him?”

“Jean!” Marco called.

 _The Stairs Of Romantic Doom_ _™ strikes again_ , Jean thought as he grimaced at Marco, who waved at Jean to come forward.

Jean trudged forward. When he got to them he intended to make up some excuse about being late for a class, or a meeting with a teacher. But Marco smiled at him, and Jean melted.

“Hi!” Marco chirruped. A 21-year-old man should not be allowed to be both handsome and adorable. His face was a weapon of mass destruction. It made Jean do weird things, like smile and forget how to words.

What was wrong with him? He was cool (mostly), he was suave (oh, the lies we tell ourselves). Hell yeah, he could talk to a cute boy.

“Hey,” he said. Fuck, yes. He was god of sex.

“This is Jean?” Buzzcut said, he gave Jean a once over, “I thought he’d be taller.”

“Connie!” Marco hissed, and Jean felt justified in his initial assessment of the man.

“Sorry, from what you’ve told me I just expected something… different.”

Well fuck you too Connie.

Wait. Back the hell up. Marco had talked about him?

He looked over at Marco, who appeared to be screaming internally. Connie pat him awkwardly on the back and turned towards Jean again.

“Sorry. My roommate appears to be catatonic,” he shrugged, “So you got caught in flash dance proposal fourteen.”

“You mean eleven.”

Connie shook his head, “Definitely fourteenth since I’ve been here. I literally hate tourists. They make me late to all of my classes.”

Oh, so this was the engineer friend Marco had mentioned.

“I’ve always wanted to ruin one.” Jean admitted.

“I’ve done that! In sophomore year. They were filming it too. The dude beat me up, but it was worth it.”

“You are both terrible people.” Marco told them, his face still red.

“You don’t know!” Connie said, and Jean found himself reassessing Marco’s friend.

“All they want is a unique proposal!” Marco said.

“They’re copying a movie!”

Marco muttered something in Spanish that made Connie gasp dramatically before Marco turned to Jean.

He smiled his dazzling smile again and Jean did not feel prepared for this.

“So,” Marco said, “I meant to ask you this ages ago, but whatever happened to getting a new bike. You never came back.”

“Um.” He ground his teeth together to stop the truth that had been so loosely falling out of his mouth recently, from coming out.

“Erm…” The second half of Les Miserables played in his mouth. His teeth were the barricades and the truth was the French army. Naturally, the army won.

“I don’t actually own a bike.”

 _Why_ was he so honest all of a sudden? Had Ymir slipped him truth serum? He wouldn’t put it past her.

Marco cocked his head and Connie burst into laughter.

“Then why were you in the bike store?” Marco asked.

Jean took a deep breath, “Isawyouinthestoreandithoughtyouweresuperhotandiwantedtotalktoyouactuallydoyouwanttogooutonadatewithmemaybe?”

Marco’s eyes were so wide that his eyelashes touched his eyebrows. Connie was doubled on the floor in laughter.

“Could you repeat that please?” Marco said breathlessly.

“Look, forget I said anything.”

“Did you just ask me out?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I’d like that.”

“It was stupid. Wait, what?” Jean snapped his gaze to Marco, who stared down at his shoes with a red face, “Really?”

Marco nodded, “If you’ll have me.” He added with a sheepish grin.

Below them, the dancers cheered when the proposal was accepted.

 

 

Four days later, two hours before his date, Jean regretted his life choices. Friday morning, the one-day where he had no classes, Jean woke up refreshed and happy, while sunlight streamed through his window. His happiness lasted until he turned on the news and it said the crime rate around Sparrow and Boulder had dramatically decreased in the past few weeks. Then Jean’s thought stream became this:

  1.      That’s strange because;
  2.      Sparrow and Boulder is one of the worst parts of town.
  3.      I haven’t patrolled there recently and;
  4.       Neither has Sharpshooter.
  5.      Come to think of it, isn’t that where Deathonator usually haunted?
  6.      He has a dumb name but more importantly;
  7.      Why wasn’t he in Sparrow and Boulder two weeks ago?
  8.       He never robs banks, why did that suddenly change?
  9.      Hey, I met Marco after Sharpy and I caught Deathonator.
  10.      OH MY GOD I MET MARCO AFTER I CAUGHT DEATHONATOR
  11.      HE CAN ACTUALLY RECOGNIZE BOTH MY ALTER EGOS
  12.      IF HE DID IN REAL LIFE I COULD GO TO JAIL???
  13.      BUT I’M GOING ON A DATE WITH HIM????
  14.      WHY DID HE HAVE TO BE SO ATTRACTIVE?????
  15.      WHY DO I HAVE ZERO SELF PRESERVATION SKILS??????
  16.      Also, I should check out Sparrow and Boulder.



 

So, Jean sat on the top of a building by Sparrow and Boulder, and regretted his life choices. He dropped his head onto the roof.

“Rough day?” Sharpshooter’s voice sang before she plopped down beside him.

Jean faced her and groaned. She laughed, her ponytail swinging behind her. Like she always did, she leaned back on her hands and swung her long legs out in front of her. Kneepads over tight black pants clunked against the cement.

Jean remembered when he first met her at his third heist. She had stood there in her red, short-sleeved, high neck top. Elbow pads, fingerless gloves and all, and pointed an arrow in his face. Her mask covered everything but her eyes, and they dared him to make a move. He did, and ended up with twenty stitches for the effort.

It was a testament to their semi-friendship that she sat next to him now, with her mask pulled up just far enough to reveal her mouth.

The arrows strapped to her back were a testament to the “semi” part of said friendship.

“Anything I should care about?” she asked.

“You probably already know half of it if you’re here.”

“And the other half?”

“Other life.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Sharpshooter picked at the straps of her maneuver gear. It was similar to Jean’s (because he had stolen his first one from her) although usually it was better cared for. Today, the material was worn and frayed.

“Rough few weeks for you too?”

It was Sharpshooter’s turn to groan as she lay back against the cement. Jean didn’t know how she did that when the bow and arrows dug against her back. He figured dealing with discomfort might be a pre-requisite to becoming a superhero.

“Are you here because of Deathonator?”

He nodded.

“I thought it was weird too. He never came up town before, plus he’s an anarchist, he’s always targeted civic buildings. And did you notice how strong he was?” she asked.

“Not really. I was mostly focused on not dying though.”

Sharpshooter ignored him, “Last time, it took me five minutes to take him out. This time it took both of us thirty minutes and he managed to wipe out half the street anyway.”

“Sharpy?”

“I’ll shoot you. And yes?”

“What did you find?” Jean said.

He turned to fully face her, “What’s different? Why’s the Deathonator fight keeping you running around the city? What did you find?”

She pursed her lips then pulled her self upward and grabbed her arrow case. Jean jolted back, but she only pulled out a small clay ball.

“Here.” She threw it at him. He caught it, then nearly dropped it when he saw the logo.

“This is one of Deathonator’s bombs.”

“No it’s not. Open it.”

Open it?

Sharpshooter looked at him expectantly and he rolled his eyes, before opening the bomb.

Rather then black powder, there was a small electronic device. Using his pinkie, Jean fished it out of the bomb and held it against the setting sun. It was shaped a little bit little a UFO. Made of smooth black metal with a glass light in the surface that intermittently flashed red.

“I found it lying by the road. I thought it was just a defective bomb and I was going to destroy it but… I saw it blinking from a crack in the clay.”

Jean side eyed her, wondering, not for the first time, just how good her eyesight was.

“It’s a transmitter.” He said after a while, “it looks just like the ones from a few years a-Oh.”

Sharpshooter slumped over.

“ _Fuck_.” Jean hissed, “ _That’s_ why he was so strong. He was a-”

“Not fully. Only enough to gain control.”

“Still. If they got him that means…”

“Yeah.”

“Motherfucker.”

Jean and Sharpshooter fell back at the same time.

“So they’re here,” Jean said, “The Titans are in the city.”

The light from the transmitter flashed against the rooftop.

Jean sat up slowly.

The flashes became more frequent, until the transmitter glowed a solid red.

“Sharpy…”

The building exploded.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I have a tumblr http://problemswithbiology.tumblr.com/


	4. Friendship, Explosions, and Bad Guys, Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean does something useful and Marco has awful, awful friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER FOR BLOOD, GORE AND LOTS OF VIOLENCE.

_The woman’s shaky breathing echoed through the dark hallway. She inched forward, hands playing in her tangled blonde hair. A light flickered behind a closed door._

_“Dan?” she called._

_“Dan is that you?”_

“It’s not Dan! It’s not Dan!”

“Run, Mary!”

 

_Only the woman’s gasps pierced through the suffocating silence. Her hand reached out to grasp the door handle._

_“Dan?”_

_It was a whisper this time._

“DON’T OPEN THE DOOR!”

 

_She flung the door open and screamed. A creature with a clawed, bloody face fell upon her and swung down its knife, cut short her screams. The hall was completely silent._

“God damn it, Mary.”

“You survived for so long! Dan just proposed! You could have had it alllll.”

“Stop singing Adele.”

“Sorry.”

 

_A young, handsome man rushed down the empty halls._

_“Mary? Mary?” he called, “Mary, where are you? The killer! It’s here in the school!”_

_He flew down the hallways as fast as his lithe muscles could carry him. Suddenly, he skidded to a halt. In front of a hallway with one, flickering, light._

“Nooo, Dan! You’re too pretty to die!”

“Run, white boy! Run!”

 

_He started down the length of the hall. Towards a broken silhouette, framed by dripping red. The man’s eyes widened and after a few uneven steps, he was running again, running towards the woman. He fell on his knees and scooped her into her arms. Broken sobs racked the empty building._

“Rest in Peace, Dan.”

The killer dropped from the ceiling and three sharp knocks sounded at Connie and Marco’s door. The boys screamed. Connie half jumped, half fell into Marco’s arms; Marco pulled at his friend’s shirt.

There was silence, then the knocks sounded again.

“Is that Jean?” Connie whispered.

“He’s not supposed to be here for another two hours.” Marco whispered back.

They stared at the door.

“Well, it was nice knowing you, Marco.”

“I’m not getting it!”

“We can’t just leave it!”

“Fine, you go do it.”

“Fuck no!”

They blinked at each other.

“Who is it?” Marco called.

Connie clapped a hand over his mouth, “You can’t just ask who it is!” he hissed.

“Why not?”

“Do you really think a serial killer is going to say ‘Oh, hey. Just here to kill you, thanks’?”

He paused when a muffled voice filtered through the door.

Marco sighed, “We can’t hear anything. Come on.”

He moved to stand up, but Connie didn’t budge. Marco did his best impression of a disapproving parent and Connie rolled his eyes.

“ _Fine,_ ”then, he proceeded to climb onto Marco’s back and wrap around him like a limpet, “let’s go.”

“Really?”

“I am not the one here who has a habit of befriending super-villains.”

“I do not- whatever.”

Marco stood up and lumbered towards the door.

“Wait!” Connie called, pulling on Marco’s hair.

“ _Ow!_ ”

“Go to the closet first.” Connie commanded.

Grumbling about awful friends in quiet Spanish, Marco changed course to the closet. Once there, he opened the door and Connie leaned over his head to grab a baseball bat sitting by the door.

“When?”

Connie hoisted the bat to his shoulder and shrugged, “I bought it when we moved in. Just in case.”

Marco nodded slowly, “okay.”

“Besides,” Connie continued, “this way when you answer the door and Savior stabs you, I can hit him over the head as you fall.”

Marco would have dropped Connie if he hadn’t wrapped his legs so tightly around Marco’s head. As it was, he settled for bumping him against the wall.

“What was that for? I’m _avenging_ you. You are welcome.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, darling.”

They headed over to the door. Marco cursed his past self for forgetting to find an apartment with a peephole and grasped the door handle.

“Who is it?” he called again. Connie shifted his grip on the bat.

“Land Shark.”

Marco grinned and he flung open the door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fortunately, explosions were not uncommon in Jean’s line of work. Unfortunately, _explosions were not uncommon in Jean’s line of work_.

He was off the building with Sharpshooter under his arm a second before the bomb exploded. The force was still enough to make him lose control of his maneuver gear and send them tumbling through the next building’s window.

They rolled until Jean slammed into the side of a desk and Sharpshooter ended up sprawled on top of him. He groaned, barely aware of the sounds of people whispering around him.

He slumped against the desk; his eyelids lowered. A few seconds to himself, that was all he needed.

“Savior!”

Or not.

“Savior, can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me? Can you feel this?”

Fire shot up his arm. Jean roared and shot upright.

“Jesus Christ! I’m fine! What the hell?”

Sharpshooter’s eyes narrowed. She looked down at his right arm. Jean followed her gaze, and gagged. Blood dripped his arm, from where he had protected his face from the window. Shards of glass embedded themselves into his forearm and besides his elbow.

“Besides that.” Jean added weakly.

Sharpshooter opened her mouth to say something when an enormous rumble sounded from behind them. The people who had been staring at the two of them turned to stare out the window. Someone screamed. Sharpshooter turned, and Jean craned his head to look over her shoulder.

The building the two of them had just been on collapsed inwards. Shelf size pieces of cement fell towards the ground. Sharpshooter’s ponytail whacked Jean’s face when she spun to face him.

“Stay here! I’m going to help!” She pulled her mask back down over her mouth and nose and ran for the window.

“Wait! Goddamnit,” Jean pulled himself up with his good hand and moved towards the window, picking glass out of his arm while he did. He leaned against the window frame and looked down. On the length of sidewalk, people scrambled away from falling rubble. Sharpshooter landed on the top of the crumbling building. Jean could hear her calling for people who might be inside the building.

She sprang back with a cry when fire erupted from the ruins.

 _That should not happen,_ Jean thought. He frowned and leaned forward.

_The explosion didn’t even burn me. How did it take out an entire building?_

He watched Sharpshooter jump onto a safe patch of rubble.

_Why can’t I hear any screaming from inside the building? How did a transmitter cause an explosion? Why did the fire start so late after the explosion? How come this feels so weird?_

If he hadn’t been so nervous for her, he wouldn’t have seen the flicker of gold just behind Sharpshooter’s head.

Please, no. It had been five years. Surely they wouldn’t come back now.

Jean’s heartbeat increased; the blood past his ears was the only thing he could hear. He squinted, leaning further forward.

Sharpshooter activated her gear and swooped over to the opposite side of the building. She just missed the giant, gold-flecked hand that grasped the empty air she had just inhabited. A contorted face flickered behind the fire.

All the blood drained from Jean’s face. He spun around to face the people behind him.

“Get out!” he yelled, “now!”

Then, without waiting to see if they followed him, he jumped down into the wreckage.

Smoke swirled around his vision. It wound around his body, plugged his ears, and filled his mouth and nose.

“Shar-” he stopped with wrenching coughs.

 _Damn it,_ Jean thought. He snatched his bloody arm away from a curious flame.

What were you supposed to do in a fire? Crawl?

Jean looked down at grit beneath him.

Yeah, fuck that.

He threw a hand over his mouth and nose and made his way around the fire. He couldn’t activate his gear; he could barely see in front of him. He could activate it and accidentally send it straight through a bystander, or worse, Sharpshooter.

He could also send it through the receiver, which made him feel a little better.

Jean gasped then gagged when the silhouette emanated through the smoke. It was massive, at least nine feet tall. Its hands were at least as tall as it was; and in one of them, was Sharpshooter.

Jean took out his gun and glided closer. While he did, the receiver changed. The hand that didn’t hold the struggling super hero curled into a fist, gold rushed into it with every beat of the beast’s heart. The fist hardened and rippled until it became a large, golden, hammer.

The receiver raised the hammer to slam down on Sharpshooter, which was when Jean shot it.

The blast hit it straight between the eyes and bounced off. Its head recoiled only a fraction, but its attention was distracted enough that Jean was able to run forward and grab Sharpshooter from between its fingers. Literally.

“Run!”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have spoken because that was when the creature’s head tilted to face him.

Jean decided to take his own advice and sprint out of there. Sharpshooter fell back next to him.

“You okay?” he asked; she nodded, “it’s a receiver!”

“I guessed that when it was crushing me!”

“I thought they were supposed to be dead! Or… safe!”

Sharpshooter shook her head, “One dead, one subdued, one MOVE!”

They flung themselves in opposite directions as a golden hand slammed the area they were. He glanced back to where the receiver drew its extended back to itself.

“We have to get out of here!” he yelled. Jean’s hand moved down to his gear.

“No!” Sharpshooter yelled, “are you crazy? Look how far it can extend its arm! It’ll grab the cord! We’ll be smashed against the rock!”

Jean rolled to avoid another deadly fist.

“Then what do we do?” he asked.

“I- I don’t know!”

Jean cursed and rolled to his feet.

Think, Kirschstein, _think._ One dead, one subdued, one stolen.

 _Well, we found the stolen one_ , Jean thought.

One dead, one stolen, one subdued. How did they do it in Jinae? How did they stop the one receiver?

He danced out of reach of the hammer and straight through a fire.

He threw his arms over his face. How was he supposed to remember this _now_?

Jean looked around. Where the hell was Sharpshooter? Behind him, the receiver drew its hands back to itself. Then, it kicked out and the kick kept going farther and farther and-

Before he could think, Jean activated his maneuver gear and flew out of the way. He caught sight of Sharpshooter’s horrified face just as a golden hand flew upwards and grabbed Jean’s cord. Jean looked down at the receiver.

_This is how I’m going to die._

Abruptly, the receiver’s face changed. Gold rushed out, and its blank expression was replaced with the horrified face of a young man. But the gold was back in the man’s face almost as quickly as it had left.

The second hesitation was all it took for the arrows to slice through Jean’s gear and send him falling toward the earth. He landed in Sharpshooter’s arms.

“My hero,” he gasped.

“You’re an idiot.”

She placed him on his feet, and they turned towards the receiver.

Who sat crossed legged on the ground, facing them.

“Where did all the fires go?” Jean wondered aloud.

He heard a hiss and steam poured out from the receiver.

“Fuck.”

He and Sharpshooter threw their arms around each other and squatted onto the floor. Jean closed his eyes. When he opened them, he and Sharpshooter were sitting, alone, amongst the wreckage of an old building.

 

 

 

 

Marco threw his arms around the man in the hallway.

“Reiner!”

Reiner laughed and hugged him back. Or at least he tried to; Connie was still on Marco’s back. Reiner settled for patting Marco on the head a couple of times.

“Hey Marco! Why is Connie holding a bat?”

Marco released his friend to wave a hand dismissively, “Oh, he thought you were a super villain.”

“And I was right!”

Marco gasped, “Connie!”

“What?”

Reiner burst into laughter, “It’s cool. It’s technically true.”

Marco stepped back into the apartment and Reiner followed suit. He closed the door behind him while Connie jumped off Marco’s back.

“You weren’t exactly a willing participant.” Marco said, holding his arms out for a proper hug. Reiner complied and then turned around to hug Connie.

Marco moved to the kitchen area to grab everyone a drink.

“Not that I’m not happy, but, what are you doing here?” he called.

Reiner craned his head from where he had made himself comfortable on the couch, “I was getting a little claustrophobic back in- _what the fuck?”_

Marco looked over. Reiner’s jaw dropped and he stared at the TV screen, where the movie killer was repeatedly stabbing an old lady.

“This is the movie we were watching when you knocked on the door.” Connie said.

“That is not pleasant.”

“Nope.”

They stared at the TV for a little while and Marco walked up behind them. He bent over and offered a beer to Reiner. Then, he perched on the top of the couch.

“You never answered my question.” He said.

“Oh, right,” Reiner snapped out of his reverie, “the Trio was stopping by a lot. I needed a break”

Marco clucked his tongue, “They’re just trying to help, Reiner.”

“Oh, was that what they were trying to do? I thought they were stalking me.” Reiner said sarcastically.

Another murder scene began in the movie.

Marco’s eyes softened, “Eren was a receiver too, Reiner. He understands, they all do.”

Marco knew by now the haunted expression on Reiner’s face whenever Titan or receivers came up. It didn’t stop bile filling Marco’s throat every time.

Reiner twisted his beer, “Do they?” he said

_They don’t know what it’s like to be alone._

Reiner continued to twist his beer. Marco reached over and squeezed his hand.

“You have me,” he said.

Marco attempted to stop the relief from flooding his face when the fear left Reiner’s face and he smiled at him.

“I feel like I missed something important,” Connie interrupted, “I was distracted by the gratuitous murder.”

Marco took his hand off Reiner’s.

“You missed Marco’s love confession,” Reiner said, “he finally admitted he wants my hot bod.”

Blood rushed into Marco’s face, “I did not!”

They ignored him.

“Aw,” an evil grin stole over Connie’s face, “Jean will be so disappointed.”

“Jean?”

Marco took a step backwards.

“Oh he didn’t tell you?” Connie asked, eyes wide and innocent, “our Marco has a _date_.”

Reiner’s jaw dropped. Then, he turned around to look at Marco with the biggest, scariest smile Marco had ever seen on his friend. And he had seen Reiner brainwashed.

“A date?” Reiner gasped.

“No.” Marco said.

“Tonight?”

“No.”

“What’s he like?”

“No!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sharpshooter leaned against Jean’s good arm while a paramedic bandaged the other one. The woman had cut off his ruined sleeve, and to Jean’s glee, pronounced none of the (dozens of) cuts on his arm needed stitches.

Sharpshooter shifted on his side and grimaced.

“How’re your ribs?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said, “I think. Yeah, they’re fine.”

“You should get it checked out.”

“And say what? Yes doctor, I broke my ribs and there are bruises all over my body. Oh, these old things? Just bullet wounds, don’t worry about it.”

“Wow. You’re a bigger asshole than I am.”

“Don’t harsh my buzz, dude.”

“Oh god.”

Sharpshooter laughed, and then winced. Jean frowned down at her.

“I’m just glad the building was empty,” Sharpshooter said, “people could have been seriously hurt.”

“Instead just we were. Great.”

“Better us then them.”

Jean rolled his eyes. Idiotic super heroes with their stupid notions of martyrdom and nobility, this is why so many of them died young.

Jean closed his eyes against the whispers of the civilians surrounding them and the barks of the paramedics. He opened them just as quickly when the only image that flashed through his mind was that of the tormented receiver.

“Where did it go?” he whispered

“Hm?”

“The receiver. Where the hell did it go?”

Sharpshooter sighed and sat up, “I don’t know. In Jinae they always disappeared like that. I remember from watching the footage of the first few attacks.”

“You remember that?”

She nodded, “I also watched them just after I decided to go super. After I visited- Oh!”

“What?”

“The Trio! I can contact them! They defeated the Titan Receivers in Jinae! I can ask how they did it!”

“That is probably a good idea.”

Sharpshooter stretched, rolling her neck, “either way. This city is going to go through hell over the next few months. You should get out while you can.”

“and leave you to do this on your own?”

She looked at him, “you’ll help?”

Jean blushed underneath his mask, “defeating Titan? There could not be an easier way to get famous.”

Sharpshooter rolled her eyes, but Jean had the most uncomfortable feeling that she knew perfectly well his first thought had not been about fame. It actually worried him a little. When did he start to care about his not-so enemy? Or this stupid city?

Sharpshooter stood up and pulled Jean after her. She waved at the paramedics when they left.

“See ya, Savior. I’ll meet you back here tomorrow?”

He nodded. Sharpshooter started to jog away.

She turned around jogged backwards, “Get some rest! This might be your last chance at normal for a little while!”

Jean scoffed and walked away. He moved his hand to run through his hair before he remembered he was wearing a mask.

Normal. What even was normal anymore?

Normal was sleep. Normal was eating at regular hours. Normal was not fighting nine foot, golden, stretchy monsters and wrecking your arm.

It was going out with friends, family, dating.

Holy shit.

Jean broke into a sprint.

Fuck what time was it?

He was going to be so late.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“WHAT DOES HE SMELL LIKE?” Reiner yelled.

“I HATE YOU!”

Marco pulled the tie so it hung loose around the neck of his purple dress shirt.

“YOU HAVE TO KNOW THESE THINGS IF YOU’RE GOING TO EMBARK ON AN EPIC ROMANCE MARCO.”

Marco didn’t know how Reiner’s voice was so loud. His bedroom door was closed; Reiner’s voice should at least _somewhat_ muffled _._

“I AM NOT EMBARKING ON A… never mind.”

They had been distracting him with questions for nearly two hours. If Reiner ran out of questions, Connie would jump in with innuendoes. Once those ran out, Reiner had already thought of twenty more questions to ask. Marco tried to put on another movie to distract them. Unfortunately, he hadn’t paid attention, and the movie he chose turned out to be _The Notebook_ , which was not a good choice when one was trying to _avoid_ talk about awful romantic clichés.

Eventually, Marco ended up grabbing one of his textbooks and reading it in order to escape the questions. There was something dreadfully wrong when doing homework became a form of escapism. There was something even worse when said textbook became _so fascinating_ that when Marco finally broke, after Connie asked, “Are you going to tell him about the gay porn you wrote last year?” he realized that it was 5 minutes before Jean was supposed to arrive and Marco had not begun to get ready.

Marco used it as an excuse to rush into his bedroom.

Sadly, he had been ready for a while now, but Jean hadn’t arrived yet and Marco’s ‘friends’ weren’t done with their questions, so now Marco hid in his bedroom, and occasionally adjusted his tie.

“WHEN YOU KISS, WILL YOUR TONGUES BATTLE FOR DOMINANCE?”

Marco stood up, and exited the bedroom.

“I can’t imagine that would be a very good kiss.” He said haughtily.

“Ooh, Marco’s pissed,” Connie fake whispered to Reiner.

“I do not know what you are talking about.” Marco said.

Connie and Reiner exchanged glances.

“I’m sorry” Reiner said.

Marco nodded this acknowledgment.

“I didn’t know not knowing Jean’s scent would make you so angry.” Reiner continued.

Marco collapsed onto the couch and groaned into his hands. His friends cackled behind him.

“He is kind of late though.” Connie said, looking at the living room clock.

“He probably heard you guys and ran away.” Marco said into his hands, “I’m never going to get a date. This is just like with Samuel.”

“In my defense, you did look really similar.”

“You didn’t have to tell him that!”

“I was just pointing it out!”

“You said he and I could be twins! And then you started comparing us to the Lannisters!”

Connie fell silent.

The “Incestident” as it was known in their house, had turned out to be, to no one’s surprise, a complete disaster. After Connie’s initial comment Samuel had said, “well, I’ve always wanted to know what it would be like to sleep with a relative. Haha.” And Marco closed the door in his face.

Marco decided to take a break from dating after that. To be honest, he wasn’t completely sure why he had accepted Jean’s offer.

Marco flashed back to Jean’s beet red face when he asked.

He grinned. Oh yeah.

“Thinking of your lover?” Reiner asked.

“He’s not my lover!”

“Yet.”

Reiner and Connie were still wolf whistling when the doorbell rang.

They all looked at it at the same time. Reiner pinned Marco and Connie made a break for the door. Marco elbowed Reiner in the stomach and sprinted past Connie, who tripped him. Marco grabbed his foot and pulled him down, then jumped up and flung open the door.

Jean blinked twice.

“Hi!” Marco said breathlessly.

“Um, hi.” Jean said, “you look… nice.”

Marco grinned, and gave Jean a once over. He shifted in his long sleeved t-shirt and blue jeans.

“I think I’m overdressed.” Marco said.

“No! Good! You! You look good! I mean, I can wait if you want to get changed.”

Marco looked over his shoulder and Connie, whose smile was trying to escape into his hairline.

“Nope. I’m fine.”

“Hi Jean!” Connie called.

“Let’s go!” Marco squeaked.

He stepped out and slammed the door behind him.

“Uh, don’t you need your phone and stuff?” Jean asked.

Marco paused. Shit. He motioned to turn around, but Connie and Reiner’s shit eating grins flashed through his mind.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, “hope you planned on paying.”

“Sure?”

“Okay, good. Let’s go!”

Marco grabbed Jean’s hand and pulled him down the hall. He really hoped his date didn’t hear the “use protection!” that filtered through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way guys, I'm looking for a beta for this fic, so if anyone wants to help me, please send me a message!

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post: http://jeanmarcoaus.tumblr.com/post/72929597016/au-where-marco-is-like-a-spy-and-jean-is-his-arch-enemy
> 
> Critiques are VERY welcome.


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